


The Table-y Adventures of Quinn

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Nuclear SMP - Video Blogging RPF, Real Person Fiction, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Biting, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Crushing, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Dirty Thoughts, Frottage, Grinding, IKEA, IKEA Furniture, Inanimate Object Porn, Kissing, LITERALLY, Licking, Magic, Making Out, Masochism, Messy, No Lube, Other, Painplay, Pegging, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Table Sex, Wet & Messy, Wet Clothing Kink, Workplace Sex, he fucks a table
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29013855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Quinn has a thing for tables, and he lets out his desires on an ornate cedar IKEA table.He doesn't realize that the table likes it, too.READ THE TAGS.
Relationships: Atomic QBomb | Quinn/Table
Comments: 10
Kudos: 4
Collections: Anonymous MCYT Fanfictions





	1. Quinn and the Cock-Stepping Table

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tables](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tables/gifts).



> I swear there is something wrong with me-
> 
> Quinn, if you're reading this, I apologise.
> 
> For Tably.

Quinn walked along the dimly lit pathway of Ikea. The only sound in the dark room was his footsteps as he followed the faintly glowing arrows on the floor. He jangled his keys lightly in his left hand, trying not to get spooked at shadows along the wall.

  
It was his second month at the job, and by now the owner trusted him enough to close the store. The only people in the building were him and a few scarily realistic stuffed animals in the kids’ section, but he never needed to venture over there long enough to get scared. His main job was checking the big furniture area near the checkout and ensuring nothing was broken or stolen.

  
Usually on his late shifts, everything was normal. He would follow the winding hallways, checking the red-lit exits and checking the merchandise. Sometimes, he would find a struggling shopper, lost in the maze-like hallways. Hell, sometimes he even got lost himself.

  
He was shaken out of his thoughts when something banged in the distance, three or four rows down. Quinn jogged along the concrete aisles, figuring it was a rat or a raccoon. Much to Quinn and his boss’ contempt, those pesky little rodents often found their way into the building, despite the traps placed at each entrance and cubbyhole. Ikea was just a giant warehouse after all, and the doors were left open a lot to bring in large orders.

  
After searching near the desks and chairs, Quinn couldn’t find the source of the noise. He glanced down each hall as he passed them, seeing all types of wooden and fabric furniture. He began to worry; it was unlikely that someone had broken in, but the possibility was there. He didn’t have anything to protect himself other than his keys. He adjusted said keys into a defensive position, just in case.

  
Quinn heard another banging noise coming from the next aisle over, with the dining tables. His hand gripped his flashlight, readily flicking it on. He turned the corner warily, and to his surprise, no living thing was there.

  
Instead of an animal or person, there in the middle of the aisle sat the most beautifully carved ornate table Quinn had ever seen. The reddish wood, likely cedar, glistened with a high-quality finish. The edges and legs of the table were engraved perfectly, the swirls showing no imperfections. Quinn felt his pants tightening and his face reddening at the sight.

  
He walked over to the table, the mysterious banging noise long forgotten. He tossed his keys to the ground, wanting both hands free to run them along the smooth wood of the table. He slid the tip of his pointer finger into a divot of the carved wood, and he swore the table made a noise at the gentle scratch of his nail.

  
Now undeniably aroused, Quinn undid the zipper of his company-designated Ikea pants. The navy blue fabric loosened, and the unrestrained bulge in his boxers pushed through. He ignored that, however, electing to go back to appreciating the table. He pressed his palm to the center, testing its strength, before deciding to climb onto it.

  
Quinn pushed himself up, the table creaking under his weight. The distended edge of his boxers grazed the corner or the table, eliciting a gasp from his lips. He fell back onto his toes, rubbing against the table again experimentally. A mixture of pain and pleasure shot through him as his dick slammed into the corner. He groaned in surprise.

  
He stepped out of his pants and boxers quickly, now unbelievably hard and aching. He gave himself a few quick jerks before moving back to the corner of the table. Quinn lined himself up directly in the corner and pushed his hips forward. More pleasure-pain spiked in the pit of his stomach, and he nearly startled himself with the grunt that was pushed from his throat. He jerked forwards again, chasing the feeling the table gave him.

  
Eventually realizing that the thin corner of the table wouldn’t finish him, Quinn let his eyes trail down the neatly carved table legs. The tips were flat, about the diameter of a soda can, cushioned lightly with foam slip pads. His dick dribbled pre-cum in anticipation. He knew how to get the pain he wanted.

  
He pulled his uncovered cock from the table’s corner, registering the faint pink lines running along the side from the sharp edge of the table. He got impossibly harder.

  
Quinn knelt down into the floor, his knees hitting the epoxy floor with a dull thud. He didn’t register the faint throbbing in his knees, the throbbing in his dick being much more prominent. He crawled over to a table leg, gently laying on his side next to it. He lifted the leg, until it was about three inches of the ground, then slipped his dick under it before it hit the floor.

  
In a flash, the breath was knocked out of him and his face turned unabashedly hotter. The formerly dull throbbing in his dick had risen to a steady thud, in time with his heartbeat. He looked down at the beaded head of it, grimacing slightly at the purpling color of his squished cock and balls. The pain quickly turned to pleasure, though, and with a jerk of his hips Quinn was able to push the worry to the back of his mind.

  
Gripping the post in front of him, he thrusted forwards again. The foam slip-pads beneath the table leg chafed against his sensitive cockhead. Quick whimpers and pained gasps dripped from his lips, and his sweaty skin glistened in tandem with the perfect finish on the table’s surface. His eyes rolled back as more pre-cum squirted from his cut-off cock.

  
Quinn pushed his warm face into the cool wood of the table, sighing at the temporary relief it brought. He continued his thrusts, turning his nose into the post. Without thinking, he stuck out his tongue and messily licked the table leg, attempting to make out with the inanimate object. It worked, sort of, the curved carvings in the table allowing his pointed tongue to stimulate it. He registered the chemical taste of the finish, pushing away any warning signs at ingesting unknown chemicals. He licked along the peg, the cold wood picking up the residue of his spit.

  
Quinn felt himself nearing his finish, ignoring all other thoughts. With a final thrust and a shudder, cum dribbled from his now deep purple cock. Coming down from his high, he quickly noticed the now painfully heavy table crushing his dick. Working quickly, he lifted the table up and tenderly pulled his throbbing dick out from under it. The foam pads had left a circular indent in his poor cock. He felt the blood rushing back into it, and whatever cum was blocked by the table leg dribbled out from it.

  
Turning his face from the bottom of the table leg into the ground, Quinn licked up his own salty release from the ground. He swallowed without issue, silently wondering if the cleanup crew had already come or if he needed to clean this up himself.

  
With his mind hazing, Quinn set a twenty-minute timer on his phone to let himself come down from the high. He threw his arm over his eyes, huffing to catch his breath. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of the unfinished wood of the underside of the table. He vaguely heard another banging sound from an aisle over, but chalked it up to his imagination. He didn’t even stop to think about why a table was out in the aisle in the first place.

  
Quinn drifted off, his cock already re-hardening at the thought of one of those table legs inside of him.


	2. The Breakroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn finds the table again, in the breakroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fml

Quinn walked through Ikea’s hallways, this time lit with the bright LED’s that had become a staple of his workplace. People pushed around him, ignoring him in favor of looking at the modern furniture littering the sides of the walkways. Quinn didn’t mind the hustle and bustle, opting to listen to the music flowing from his earbuds.

Glancing at his watch, Quinn noticed the time. He had two minutes until his scheduled fifteen-minute break. He silently fist bumped. Finally! He’d been walking around helping Karens for hours on end, and now he could settle down and play some Minecraft for a few minutes.

He walked towards the double doors leading to the break area, already removing his name pin. He hadn’t worked for a few days- the bruising on his cock was so bad he opted to stay home- so he wasn’t sure who’d be in. Luckily, he’s all alone. Just him with shitty breakroom coffee and donuts from that morning.

Quinn walked around the table in the center of the room to sit down, stopping when he noticed the table. It wasn’t the normal stained plastic table they’d had for months. He’d recognize those perfect carvings anywhere- it was the table from a week ago. It’s the table that crushed his cock and left him with bruises for days.

Quinn felt himself harden in his pants, not taking his eyes off the perfect table. It was beautiful, just as he remembered it- but why was it here? Feeling the strain on his zipper, he wasn’t sure he cared.

Not bothering to lock the door or cover the windows, Quinn lowered himself to his knees in front of the table. He gently inspected the leg he had used last time, checking for any blemishes. Luckily, he had left the table untouched. Perfect. He nosed along the table’s perfect finish, admiring it as he had last time. Some things never changed.

He shed his pants and boxers as quickly as he had before, also tossing his shirt into the clothes pile that was growing in the corner. His dick grazed the tile floor as he crawled under the table. He shivered at the ice cold feeling, but the cold did nothing to lower his erection.

Quinn slid over to the farthest corner of the table, reaching for one of his co-workers’ baby bag and pulling out a small container of baby oil. He was planning on just using spit, but he didn’t want to tear and not be able to come into work. Plus, asshole splinters sounded terrible. 

He laid back onto his back, adjusting himself so the cool table leg was nestled in his ass. He was still decently loose from this morning, when he had played with himself to the thought of this very table. The memory made him shiver in anticipation. Now he would get to live those dreams.

He slicked up his fingers with the baby oil, tossing the bottle to the side. He reached down, playing with his hole, before shoving two fingers in with a groan. He pistoned them as hard as he could, ready to get prep over with. He wanted the table inside him. 

He added a third finger within a minute, grunting loudly with the stretch. He added a fourth finger, much too soon, and soon the squelching sounds coming from his ass drowned out the pained noises dripping from his lips. He spread the leftover oil on the table leg.

Quinn lifted the table leg gently, putting the squared tip to his hole. Relaxing, he pushed the first inch or two of it in. The table creaked, and Quinn swore it was enjoying it, too.

He pushed it in even farther, losing track of how much was in at this point. He knew it all wouldn’t fit, the table was about three feet tall. Even if it would be hot, he’s not going to die from table sex.

The donuts and pot of cheap coffee that had been on the table before he started fell to the ground, dousing Quinn in the warm liquid. The salty sweat already dripping from his forehead mixed with the coffee on his skin, and it was a pleasant feeling. 

He pulled the part of the table leg that was in him back out, letting it pound back into him with a drawn-out moan. The table shuddered above him. Quinn pulled his knees parallel to his head, bending himself in half. The table, which was suspended in his ass, went impossibly deeper with each wiggle.

Quinn ground up into the table leg, feeling it brush against every crevice inside him. The sharp corners poked against his walls, and the feeling was heavenly. 

He reached behind him to grab the nearest table leg, pulling his head up to it and sticking it in his mouth. He gnawed on the table leg gently, as he fucked himself hack onto the table leg. The drool from his mouth joined the coffee, sweat, and pre-cum mixture on the floor, adding to the wet mess. 

Quinn knew he was close, chasing his release by speeding up his ministrations. He bit down on the table leg hard as he felt cum spray across his chest, some of it reaching the top of the bottom part of the table.

He lay there for a few minutes, gathering his bearings. Quinn looked at the mess he made, tiredly moving to his hands and knees to gather the floor mixture and lap it up with his tongue. He made his way along the puddle, wincing at the taste of cheap coffee and salty sweat. Eventually, the floor was basically clean, and he was able to put his clothes back on, albeit haphazardly.

Quinn glanced at the clock on the wall- his break ended in two minutes. He was lucky that he had finished up quickly. Had he taken any longer to clean up or finish, someone might’ve walked in to change shifts.

Quinn walked out of the breakroom in a post-orgasm haze, straightening his uniform. He didn’t notice the table behind him glistening, changing.


End file.
